This is part two..what more can I say?
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I must have fallen asleep, there in the muggy shade of the oak tree, because the next thing I knew, something stirred near my shoulder. Panic and adrenaline widened my eyes and my mouth formed a snarl as I tensed. Who's there? Oh, no, not the guards-- I shivered frenetically as I saw a dark shadow blot out the orange light of the setting sun. Breaking twigs snapped beneath the stranger's feet, and in a low voice, they said something. I scooted away, shrugging and frowning hard at the male form.
"No, no, it's okay," said he. I paid no attention to his empty words. Words carried lies, just as the ward overseer said things he didn't mean. I wasn't going to be ensnared by civil language alone. For me, it was a ready to fight.
"No, don't--I don't want to hurt you," he tried again, this time stepping back a few strides. The light hit him at angle, highlighting a tall, wise forehead and a head of short, dark hair. Silver-blue eyes swam below perfect, thick eyebrows, shimmering azure in the light. He was young, even vulnerable-looking. So unlike anyone I'd seen in months. His aura of youth seemed to emanate undisturbed innocence.
"Wha-what?" My mouth twisted in indecision as I spoke.
"You can talk? Good," he stuttered awkwardly.
"Why wouldn't I be able to talk?" I retorted sourly. He had expected me to be nonverbal?
"I don't know--it was just a question," he said, sounding bruised.
"Well?" Neither I nor the situation granted small-talk to be appropriate.
"Can I help you up?" He asked, now with a slight strain denoting his trepidation.
"Yeah. No. I can do it," I grunted, rising with difficulty to my feet. Then gravity kicked in. I started to fall backwards into the tree. He extended a hand which I accepted, grudgingly letting myself be thankful for his aide.
"You're from the hospital over there?" he asked innocently.
"And you would care because?" I found it rather odd and even suspicious that he should mention the place I had just managed to escape from.
"Uh, no matter. Do you need anything?" This guy was so determined to be perfectly cordial that it made me want to kick him.
"No. Yes, actually, well, I normally don't take things from total strangers," was my answer.
"I'm Brett Line. See, now I'm not a stranger," he murmured, flashing a weak smile at the end.
How I usually detested such fake signs of friendship. But his didn't feel so fake as most.
"You--you can call me Shanna," I replied, slightly taken aback by the forthcoming way in which he expelled such intimate information.
"So do you need something?" he persisted.
"I guess so. Like, say, clothes, for starters," I sighed, at my admission of such neediness.
I stared at the mossy earth that felt cool beneath my toes as Brett laughed quietly.
"Here's what I can do. You can come to my house with me and get some of my sister's clothes, or you can stay here and wait for me to bring them." he stated determinedly.
"I--I'll go," was my lame reply. Then I saw the advantages of this move: maybe I could hang around, not have to find a ditch to sleep in. Not to mention what was coming--whatever drugs they had me on, when they wore off--it was going to be like living in Hades. Anti-psychotics don't just
let you go. They tie your body chemistry around their fingers and then when they leave, your body has to compensate for the missing chemicals it's used to having in those pills...
So I took him up on his offer and followed Brett out of the trees into the back yard of a log cabin home. A golden retrieve bayed as we came up to the house, and two three year olds stopped playing baby basket ball to stare at us. He stood there for a moment, smiling awkwardly like a kid who had raided the cookie jar, then he turned to me and whispered gravely.
"Shanna? See that woodshed? Go behind it, and you'll see a door on the other side. Go inside, and don't come out until I give you the clear. Okay?" his eyebrows drove themselves down into flat, serious lines.
"No qualms here," I said, nodding before I scampered across the yard to the shed. The outside painted forest-green, with numerous scratches, dents and other places where heat was peeling from humidity. On one side, there was a rusted tin roof that covered stacks of firewood, and even an axe propped on one supporting pole. Ignoring these items, I yanked open the door, which despite the large amount of which was oxidized, opened silently with oiled hinges. Inside was a sleeping bag stretched out on the rough wooden floor, along with so many toy horses and mutilated Barbies that the room's use was immediately clear. The two toddlers played here. I sat down on top of the sleeping bag, leaving the door--which faced the woods--open for some light. The room had no wiring, save for a skinny single strand that ran from a switch to a large misquitto lantern. I got up and flipped the switch, satisfied by the substantial amount of light. My next activity centered on clearing the floor so I didn't lacerate my feet by stepping on some plastic horse's neck.
My gosh, I thought fleetingly: even the littlest kids at the hospital didn't leave this much mess for the janitors to clean up. But then again, life on the outside was a very different thing indeed.
When the horses and Barbies had been pushed into a corner, I sat back down and began playing with the light, using my hands to create different shadow figures on the wall. One fist made the shape of a guy's head, another the rear end of a therapy dog that came once a month to my ward. The therapy animals were perhaps the one good thing other than visits that I vaguely enjoyed. Most of the time, though, it was bearing out the side effects of the medications, even having reactions to them. In general, every person in my ward would have a 'breakdown' at least once a week. That included me.
I would sit, staring into space until something drove me nuts, be it outside stimuli or a wretched new obsession. Then I'd break out of the stupor, thrashing and crying about something, knowing the nurses and attendants would come running, hold me down, stick me with hypodermic needles of Haldol and Valium, maybe even blood pressure medications, to knock me out until the fit subsided.
I was so tired of being prodded, and poked, locked away, treated like a half-brained oragutan. That was why I'd fled. So far, it was quite worth all the trouble, havoc and mayhem it had caused.
Because it is truly something to go running barefoot in the woods. Knowing you are your own person, no longer harassed by commandeering giants whose utmost goal is to control you. My eyes grew heavy, and I curled up inside the sleeping bag, comfortable as I had ever been.
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This is it so far. Come on, tear it up, highlight the inevitable faux paus...Please? I just want to say: feedback is very welcome.
